dmseay

he was always worried about entertainment…his entertainment..what was on the agenda…a long drive in the country…a cheeseburger…someone to talk to….always out to impress…

stories of foreign travel…girls from the past…this career…could’ve would’ve should’ve….the man in full…

membership in the Masons…President of the local Lion’s…look ma…no hands…the resume was endless…with a wide array of endorsements…

did I ever tell ya I was given top secret security clearance?..
not many get that you know…yes sir…top secret…

what are we doin’ tonight?, the old man asked loudly, What do you have planned for me?, talking over CNN…another shooting…more terror…

yea…I was given top secret…

yes…top secret security clearance…I heard….

told you that one?….what are we doin’ tonight?

what has this romantic nomad life gotten me?…stories..
poems…tales….dreams and glimpses of bliss in Washington Square Park…a seedy side of Montreal…moonlit nights in Vermont…the self made full…

to approach the page each day…with a love of language…an anger over those without…a passionate kiss recorded…

going from city to city with a dollar to be spent on a cup of coffee at midnight…or maybe early in the morn with hopes of feeling American…maybe one day…

and memories tucked away…saved for a reader…passed along from one dreamer to the next…keep the torch lit…we all are in need of light…

what has this romantic nomad life gotten me?…. all that can be placed in a book-bag and a soul…
and that is enough to live-on…

that river is low…very low, the old man said as we drove the Ford over a bridge heading somewhere…nowhere in particular…

we had any rain?…I mean a good rain…the kind that leaves a mark, he mumbled…hating being the passenger…remembering when he was behind the wheel…

didn’t think so…I’m talkin’ for the month…not summer…I guess we need it, kept looking out the window at the old houses…the abandoned homes…where families once lived…kids were raised…

boy…this neighborhood’s gone to hell in a handbasket, a loud clearing of the throat…a handkerchief taken out, Coloreds moved in…no-one gives a shit..
damn shame…you listenin’ ?…

I hear you pop…I hear…

hope we get some rain…that river sure is low…you see how low that river is…uh?…

I see dad…yea…I see…

just not on Labor Day though…I hope Monday’s nice…nice for a final picnic ‘fore the kids go back to school and all…

dad…Monday’s the 4th of July…

you see how low that river’s gotten?..not a decent rain all summer..

right…that’s right dad…

there’s a bench in Central Park where I sit..listening to Bill Evans…On Green Dolphin Street playing softly…watching boys play grown-up…girls…dress-up…and the whole of society out to impress…no matter the cost…

and seated…not-so-fashionable..
not-so-hep…a fat man with an empty paunch…nothing up my sleeve…pockets with eternal holes…the constant sound of coins dropping to concrete…I take it all in…

strollers as much as a used car..
bonnets baring names…and a smartphone in every palm…talk talk talk talk…the constant chatter of nothing…absolutely nothing…

Green Dolphin Street becomes Lush Life…twelve o’clock tales of jazz and cocktails…if only…if only I could rot away with the rest…
with those whose lives are lonely too…

it is a long drawn out saxophone solo of scales up and down…played with soul…so rare these days…whatever happened to soul…tossed in a back alley dumpster with the empties…

I sit on this bench in Central Park and watch the beautiful people…the pretty ones who poverty never touched…filled with smoothies and stock options…credit does what credit can…no worries…
I sit…and sit…it is time…

leave now and forever hold your peace…holding onto peace…that is all to be asked…

I told this guy…see…that there wasn’t  a thing he could do…done deal…and he knew that…should’ve known that..right..I mean..he knew this was coming…something about destiny…maybe karma…knew he fucked-up….

and so I told him this…does he listen?….no…there’s nothing there…call it wet behind the ears..call it shit for brains I don’t know…but he’s not gettin’ it…

that my friend will get you killed…you’ll wind-up dead in a cell…hung from the ceiling at Bellevue…never heard from again..
and why…why?…’cause of arrogance…uh? ..

some guy thinks he’s too smart…too clever for his own good…never get caught…see…

but he does get caught..
he catches himself..
and human nature takes over and little by little these things are revealed…these signs along the way…revealed by him..eh? …right…

in the end..we all do it to ourselves…some it takes longer…in trying to fuck the next guy…right?

just be careful…that’s all I’m sayin’…no-one’s sins are ever forgiven…

prayers sent in the night…
to a god unseen…never heard from..
waiting for the coming..maybe the second…maybe…who knows…

looking for Buddha…Vishnu..
Mohammed…Jesus where are you..

like a car deal everything’s upside down…my payments are behind..
I owe too much…always in search of a loan..

walk these streets at early rise…
vagabonds moaning and groaning to the sun god…the bright.. glorious star which guides us..

to where…to where..
down Lexington Avenue…along 5th…taking us to Washington Square…
I am tired…tired…

this world will do you in…
just ask Christ…
hell..he tried to save it…
they murdered him…

just keep walking…
searching…
to not have a home…
tis truly blessed…

I’m an old liberal…belief in the backroom deals over Scotch and smokes and foul language and this deal cut one way to serve many…as many as you can…bring home the bacon..

I’m an old liberal…send So and So a box of Cubans…tell ’em he can count on me…write a check out to X Y and Z…the boys down at the hall are countin’ on this one…just do it..

I’m an old liberal…give Mrs. Yablomowitz an extra trash can the day before the vote…tell Minister Jones and Jebadiah to count the cash…it should all be there…hell…send ’em some more…

I’m an old liberal…not afraid to reach across the aisle and shake hands with the devil to get the deal done…what’ll it cost…

I’m an old liberal…and I look for the union label…not afraid to get in close and mix it up…or carry a picket sign…get the Jacobowskis a turkey this year…it’s been tough on ’em…

I’m an old liberal…and like the mensch my days are dwindling…soon to be over…run out of town by marketing experts and analysis numbers and computer whiz kids and transparency and money… money.. money..

I’m an old liberal…Goodnight nurse…

Is the car paid-off?, the old man looked at the bill…waving in a shaky hand…

no pop…you still owe…that note will outlive you…

we’re gonna have a talk, Texas swagger came into play, That car should be done with, he quietly mumbled, They don’t know who their fuckin’ with, slamming the monthly bill down on a Shaker table…

dad…dad….we’ll deal with it…we’ll deal with it…

everybody’s always wantin’ money, he groaned, They can keep that damn car…they can keep the house…they can keep it all…

what’re you gonna do dad?

go for a walk…a long walk…

wanting of a bus ride…out to San Francisco…The Tenderloin…back to poverty on the flip-side…goodbye Manhattan…so-long Chicago…hitchin’ on Highway 1…like a Mexican migrant…like Kerouac…like….me…

up and down the coast-line…a change of scenery…a thousand islands left behind…a seaway of icy blue…lakes not among the greats…no Michigan…no Erie…no Ontario…head west young man…

hear the jazz on streets and in taverns…spoken words thrown out in the air…everyone asking for a dollar…a quarter…whatever can be spared…and cop cars roll by…coasting along hills in midnight blue with search-lights looking for me and you….come out…come out…

looking for new land…not a home…a poet never has a home….just words and dreams..
words and dreams…and all too often…those dreams are before shut-eyes….

open ’em..

she played cello… that was years ago…now the wood and strings stand in a corner…a decorative piece…

was once a socialist…an idealist…weekends spent at the Revolutionary Bookstore…Marx and Lenin were read…The Communist Manifesto lay on a white doily by her Queen size bed…

dinners at Indian restaurants and hookahs smoked at midnight while poetry sang out…bouncing off bar-room walls in Wicker Park…now that has changed too…

I was a passing fancy….a twelve year escape…from parent’s orders…from the obscenities that make us less pure…there was no American dream…

goodbye Wicker Park…goodbye Greenwhich Village…goodbye poetry and music…

she played cello… that was years ago….